Robert flinched.
‘I am a fair man, Robert, you know that.’
‘I do, Owen, I do.’ He pressed the bridge of his nose, nodded to himself. ‘Will sent his wife and children off to her parents in Shelby this past summer.’
‘Why?’
‘He claimed for fear of the pestilence. And then … When my wife called to see whether there was anything she might do she was sent away with such dispatch she worried about the welfare of his apprentices. I dislike accusing a fellow merchant …’
‘Is his business prospering?’
‘He has always struggled. A surly man at the best of times. Lacks his father’s eye for quality, has no patience with apprentices. No, his business is not prospering.’
Owen thanked him. ‘If you think of anyone else, encounter anyone …’
‘I will come to you,’ said Robert. ‘I swear.’
One of the apprentices knocked, and as Robert consulted with him regarding an order, Owen rose, nodded his thanks, and withdrew with Ambrose.
Crispin followed. Outside, they agreed on a plan.
‘I thank you for this,’ Owen said as they were parting.
‘You have my betrothed to thank for the idea. Muriel is my conscience, my guide. I seek her advice in everything. She encouraged me to distance myself from the archbishop, a connection that she believes will make it difficult for me among my fellow merchants.’
Owen had not guessed Muriel Swann to be someone so attuned to the temper of her late husband’s colleagues. ‘May God watch over her and the child in her womb,’ he said.
Returning to Jehannes’s house Owen explained Crispin’s plan. After some initial hesitation, Hempe, Jehannes, Michaelo, Lucie, and Marian admitted they could think of no timely alternative.
Michaelo offered to accompany the party, lending Marian the robe of a Benedictine monk for the walk to Crispin’s home.
‘A monk would not serve as an attendant for a widow,’ said Marian.
‘Carry your clothes with you,’ said Lucie. ‘Once you reach Crispin’s home you will shed the disguise. I will help you dress before I leave. You must look believable as a monk. We must hasten, for I must also prepare Alisoun and send her on her way.’
Michaelo went to fetch one of his habits and a hooded cape. Lucie asked Anna the cook for a comb and something to tie back Marian’s hair. When all was assembled, including a plain cloth sack for the change of clothing, Lucie led Marian into Jehannes’s parlor.
‘I cannot believe I will be back among sisters of my order so soon,’ Marian said, her eyes alight. She burst into the Benedicamus Domino she had sung earlier, lowered her voice and sang more, cutting herself off with laughter. In that same low voice she asked, ‘Will I do as a monk?’
Lucie smiled to see her come alive. ‘You will.’ But as she lifted Marian’s gown over her head, she groaned. ‘Your shift. You are bleeding.’
‘My courses?’
‘I believe so.’
Marian spun round and caught Lucie up in a hug. ‘That is good! Bless Dame Magda.’ She released Lucie and twisted the shift round to see. ‘But we have no time to wash out my shift.’
Lucie began to undress.
‘What are you doing?’
‘You will wear my shift beneath the monk’s robes.’ Lucie held it up for Marian. ‘Too short, but it matters not. Dame Euphemia’s maidservant is tall and slender. Borrow something from her. I will be back with cloths. You must inform the sisters of your needs tonight.’
‘Yes!’
Lucie silently echoed Marian, Bless Dame Magda.
When at last Marian stepped into the hall in Michaelo’s robes her stride was longer, her expression pinched, her voice, when she spoke, huskier than her normal tone but not as exaggerated as the voice that had set her laughing. A hood covered her hair.
‘You are transformed,’ said Michaelo, his smile expressing approval. ‘Shall we depart?’
Owen took Lucie aside. ‘How is she?’
‘Excited. Happy. I pray this works.’
A curt nod, signaling his concern. ‘I have checked round the house. It looks safe for them to depart. We have done all we can.’
‘I need to prepare Alisoun. Then we will have done all we can.’
Once the monks and Lucie had taken their leave, Owen turned his attention to Beck. Clearly the man knew far more than he had admitted.
Jehannes suggested the blinded man be questioned in his parlor, and that he attend. ‘I would know what I am sheltering in my home.’
Owen could hardly object, and Beck was sufficiently improved that he could walk with support. As Jehannes guided Beck into the parlor, describing where he was, adding cushions to the chair in which he was seated, asking whether he might need a lap rug, Anna followed with a bowl of ale to calm him, for the man behaved as if he were being summoned to his execution despite Owen’s assurance that he had nothing to fear as long as he told the truth. When Jehannes withdrew to his seat, and Beck appeared able to reach for the bowl beside him, Owen settled across from him, reaching out to touch his hand, let him know where he was.
He began by talking a little of his own experience in losing sight, some of the things he had found helpful, such as all that they had been doing to make him comfortable. With a shaky voice, Beck thanked him and the archdeacon.
‘But why am I here?’ he asked.
‘You have not told us all you know,’ said Owen. ‘So we are giving you the opportunity to do so.’
‘You call me a liar?’
‘I have learned from a trusted and well-respected citizen of York that you accompanied the vicar Ronan on his visits to merchants, that you witnessed him consulting his account book, which he called his psalter, and know much about his threats to merchants and how often they rebuked him for exaggerating and making false claims. Tell me about this account book of his. Where did he keep it? Where else did he hide the items and money he collected, besides what you say was stolen from the chest? He was a careful man, Beck, he would not have hidden everything in plain sight.’
The man was sweating as he shakily reached for the bowl of ale. Owen leaned forward and assisted him.
‘I do not know his hiding places. He trusted no one with that, I think.’
‘And the account book, his so-called psalter. Why did you pretend you did not know what the men were searching for in his lodgings?’
‘He made me swear I would never speak of it. Never. He said he would curse me.’
‘And you believe he is capable of that?’
‘He is not yet buried, is he?’
That made a difference? Owen glanced up at Jehannes.
‘It is not uncommon to fear that a soul does not rest until the body be buried in blessed ground,’ said Jehannes. ‘But the vicar has been placed in a temporary sarcophagus in the Bedern chapel, Beck. A sacred space equal to burial in blessed ground. He can no longer carry out such a threat, if he ever could. Churchmen are not trained to curse their fellow man.’
Beck frowned, as if taking this in.
‘If you refuse to speak truth to Captain Archer, you must leave my house,’ said Jehannes.
‘You would throw me out?’
‘I would hand you over to Master Adam, the precentor.’
‘Does Diggs frighten you?’ asked Owen. ‘Crispin Poole’s man?’
Beck squirmed in his chair.
‘If you tell me the tale, from the beginning, I will protect you from him,’ said Owen.
‘You can do that?’
‘He can,’ said Jehannes. ‘Tell him what he needs to know.’
‘Were you with Ronan when he left for the minster that evening?’ Owen asked.